Covering a musician that you hold dear is one of the most difficult personal tributes one can attempt to translate to an audience without getting only the proverbial squealing, distorted feedback in response.

For me, situation qualifies the experience. I find it much easier to be swept up in a moment of shared appreciation when I’m at a show and the performing band decides to break into a cover. The gesture recognizes that there’s something bigger than both the performer I’m currently watching and me, something we both love, and therefore, something that connects us even more than the current situation (hopefully) has.

A recorded cover is an entirely different matter. The lack of (seeming) spontaneity adds a serious intent to the rendition; choosing to listen to the recording without a crowd surrounding you sharpens your perception. A listener familiar with the original can’t help but compare: is the interpretation unoriginal, a carbon copy of the prototype—or is does it stray too far from the artist’s original intent, and is it therefore too weird for a curious fan to buy into (tangentially, does this latter judgement label the listener as close-minded and does it matter what the artist originally intended?). The notoriety and influence of the original performer multiplies this contentious situation, probably weighting the general perception of an attempted cover as just that—at worst, a failed attempt to channel brilliance, and at best a reincarnation of a beloved number so that the new performer rekindles public interest and respect for the original. It’s a “thank you” from the performer to the orignating genius and an incidental “hey, have you heard…” to the audience. Most of the time I find myself responding with “Yes, asshole. Now why did you choose to massacre this masterpiece the way you did?” And here we are again, left to wonder if I’m just a lame traditionalist.

I think my presentation of this dichotomy of “the cover” only proves how wary I am of potential reinterpretation of a classic. I don’t want my tender love for some piece of music to be dragged along through someone else’s foreign nostalgia. I do, however, really like to be pleasantly surprised and see something anew—again.

And that brings me to the point of why I’m here: to draw your attention toward a tribute compilation that has recently inspired me.

From the Land of the Ice and Snow: The Songs of Led Zeppelin (Jealous Butcher Records)

Released 10/12/10

Album artwork by John King and Carson Ellis

I can’t say I’ve listened to it enough to truly feel acquainted with all the material on it, so don’t consider this a review of its total musical quality (though so far, 3 listens in, I’m really enjoying it). Do consider it a stamp of approval though. The 2-disc (3 with the bonus digital download-only tracks), 50+ track compilation is the brainchild of Rob Jones of Portland’s Jealous Butcher Records , Matt Ward, and John King. The project started through a shared love of Led Zeppelin, a band which inspired each of these people to do what they do today. “And wouldn’t it be nice to put together a tribute release featuring friends both near and afar, not being a ‘who’s who’ sort of tribute, but rather a ‘community’ inspired collection of Zeppelin songs.” (Quoted here) Jones issued a call-to-arms to musicians that he knew and submissions started to pour in—not surprising, given Zep’s God-like presence, with influence over so many different genres.

That was six years ago. The project’s momentum dipped and rose, certainly moving to the back burner along the way, but with more submissions of varying quality arriving all along the way. The project needed some fresh energy in order to draw it to a satisfactory close. This rekindling arrived in the form of Ward’s idea to turn the project into a benefit. Thus a percentage of the sales for this record go to First Octave, a Portland non-profit organization which issues grants to local school music programs. And this is the part that really inspired me to go out on a limb and risk purchasing a compilation that I might only listen to once, dour cover-consumer that I am (though, due to my knowledge of who was involved on the project and my love of the subject, I guessed that probably wouldn’t be the case). Portland is a city where just over 50% of schools lack any sort of music program (stat courtesy of First Octave’s site). Music education is something that not only supplements but enriches education at any age, whether it’s a pleasant addition to one’s daily activities or the sole focus of study and activity. Engaging with music makes you a smarter, sharper, better person. It was the bright spot in my public school education here in Oregon, and I certainly attribute it with keeping me involved in the classroom and inspired to learn. Those brave public school teachers who introduced me to music were what inspired me to go to college and keep engaging my brain. Funny, I wound up choosing music as my major concentration. I think it’s awesome that a local record label coupled with over 50 local artists to produce an item that would generate funding for our local school-age population. Cyclic action is part of what makes music really beautiful. Some of the smartest musicians I know taught me that repetition regenerates and renews. So check this out and throw some dollas toward what’s good—for you now, for the current music scene, for rock and roll’s past, and for the future generation.

Image courtesy of oregonlive.com

More reviews of this tribute can be found here, here, here, and here. For Willamette Weekly‘s awesome Q&A with Rob Jones, click here.

In my future, when I live alone in some chic apartment and have an absurd salaried job, my living room will feature one accessory:

At that point, my entire wardrobe will be custom tailored and famous artists will descend from their studios when they see me strolling along the sidewalks, and they’ll offer to paint my portrait:

Well, of course I'll wear a top hat every day. Quite.

(Romaine Brookes, Self Portrait–she dated Ida Godebski for several years. Ida was a super hot Russian ballerina and patroness of fine art, as evidenced by her taste in girlfriends and her commission of Ravel’s Boléro in 1928)

2. to do so on St. Patrick’s Day, a day on which there always seems to be a plenitude of whiskey.

This is Alice in true form.

Alice and I have both made this recipe before and, accordingly, it’s become one of our favorites (the Guinnache is all her doing, though–I wouldn’t dream of taking credit for her ingenious creation). The cake recipe is from an amazing food blog which you may have heard of: Orangette, written and operated by Molly Wizenburg. She and her husband recently opened a restaurant in Seattle named Delancey, she has a relatively new cookbook out, and she writes monthly columns for Bon Appétite–in short, she’s a food goddess. This cake is further proof.

I first made it a little over a year ago with another wonderful friend, Brian; he’s off in Washington now, doing big bad research in the field of nuclear proliferation. But back then, when life was simple, we made cakes. Cakes with Bulleit in them.

That’s Brian, working magic; and that’s the final, heavenly product, with its tasty benefactor in the background.

If I remember correctly, we made that cake to blow off some stress. We particularly wanted to alleviate some of Brian’s, since he was embarking on his second semester of Reed College Thesis Hell and also being a SB senate mastermind (don’t ask me how he does/did it). We accomplished our goal and got a ridiculously amazing cake out of it to boot. I certainly remember the day fondly (that much is obvious if you click the “About” tab up above). To insure that your own cake-making experience is ridiculously happy and appropriately decadent, I recommend you put the full cup of bourbon on into the batter. Then sprinkle a little more on top, just for good measure. It’s so natural and so worth it.

Anyhow, one year later, this cake is doing its job once again, this time coming from Alice’s incredibly able hands, alleviating the aches and pains of a new generation of cracked-out, under-slept seniors. It has powers. It works magic, I tell you (and don’t you try and tell me it’s just the boozy aroma). So my words of advice to you are: quit pussyfooting around and make your life better–make this cake. Now. And listen to some Pogues while you’re at it.

Oh, and as far as the Guinnache goes, you might have to improvise. I think ours is destined to become a secret house specialty…